


you woke the lion up

by Tsume_Yuki



Series: the pride of lions [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Hermione Left In The Horcrux Hunt Too, Jasper is a Good Southern Gentleman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travelling through England and attempting to adjust to this 'vegetarian diet' that Peter had heard about, Jasper Whitlock comes across a pretty girl abandoned in the woods with far more despair than should be appropriate.

</p><p>And really, as a Southern Gentleman, he can hardly leave her on her lonesome, can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which Alice is not Jasper's mate, Hermione leaves with Ron during the Horcrux hunt, and Jasper still manages to find happiness, even if it takes a little longer than he'd hoped.

 

 

 

**23rd September 1997**

He's barely into the forest, nose working efficiently in an attempt to pick up the scent of his prey, when the wave of absolute desperation and desolation hits him.

It almost cuts his legs out from under him, the sudden shock of such emotion, and Jasper has to catch himself on a nearby tree in order to avoid landing face first in the dirt. The moss covered bark cracks beneath his grip, a perfect imprint of his hand now immortalized within the trunk until nature wears it away.

He cringes slightly, but forcing himself to remain thankful that he has not uprooted the tree altogether. This forest has proven a rather fine hunting ground so far, and he has no desire to leave it anytime soon.

He inhales, long and slow, brain whirling to identify all the scents that register. Deer, fox, badger, and human.

Jasper freezes as the final one registers, not daring to breathe once again. The air does not burn his lungs with desire for release, nor does his body scream in fury at being locked in place so completely. It has been this way for as long as he can remember now, his days in the Confederate Army nothing more than a blurry vision in comparison to the crisp memories of his time as a vampire.

He can feel every single cell within his body all but vibrating with energy, ready to track down the human and feed, to ease the burning within the back of his throat.

But he refuses, he will not, not when he has been doing so well since he began this. Ever since he had last met up with Peter and Charlotte, ever since they told him of the coven in Alaska they had run into that fed solely from animals, he knew that was the lifestyle for him.

He had just underestimated how difficult it is.

As such, he has retreated to Europe, slowly making his way through the countries as he comes to grips with this more humane lifestyle. It has been three years since he began this diet, and it has been one hundred and seventy four days since his last slip up.

He will not allow that number to begin again at zero.

Jasper takes off in the opposite direction, following his nose and allowing it to lead him to the badger instead.

 

 

 

He has finished off his third deer, feeling uncomfortably full and with only the tiniest craving for human blood, when he finally feels comfortable approaching the source of the emotions.

Feet soundless upon the crisp autumn leaves, Jasper makes his way through the undergrowth, the vegetation parting before him. Already the animals are well away, no doubt able to sense his presence, no matter how he has taken the time to wash the fresh blood from his clothes in the nearby stream.

He is not quite following his nose, instead attempting to locate the swelling of emotion, allowing the strength of the current to pull him along towards the source. The despair is paramount, though a thick longing sits almost hidden within its depths, along with a pained bitterness and a sense of heady determination. All strong emotions, all enough to allow him to navigate the woods and know with certainty that he is going in the right direction.

Wind rustles through the autumn leaves, bringing down a wave of leaves in a variety of shades, from marigold to mahogany.

It leaves Jasper wondering how the English run their All Hallows Eve; perhaps it will be better than the festivities he say in Germany. The colours remind him of the United States though, and he recalls the fever that continuously grips his country during the month of October.

Halloween is always a great joy to witness, and there had been some years in which Jasper had ensured he was well fed the day before in order to walk around at night without fear. Many a time people had complemented him on his 'costume', marvelling on how red he had managed to make his eyes. They asked what cosmetics he wore, but the Texan brushed them off, proclaiming to not wish to divulge his secrets.

Yes, Halloween is certainly a pleasant holiday period, and it is soon to be upon him again.

Pausing in his tracks, Jasper kneels down, inspecting the leaves just before his feet, the leaves that border the very edge of the grove he now finds himself upon the outskirts of. They're disturbed, displaced from where they originally fell, exposing dry earth beneath them with damp soil resting beneath their forms. It had rained recently, within the past three or so hours, only just stopping before he left for his hunt.

Adjusting the straps of his backpack slightly, Jasper cocks his head to a side once again as he considers the distribution of leaves, the way they have shifted from their previous position.

It doesn't make any sense.

It is as if someone has taken a step into this patch of leaves, then turned on heel, returning the way they'd come. Only, there's no more evidence of a journey; in fact, come to think of it, it seems exceptionally hard to focus upon where he pictures the neck step would be.

Frowning, Jasper rubs forcibly at his eyes, quite unsure of himself. His brain and instincts are telling him there is more to this than what he sees, no matter how much his eyes protest it is a simple open and close case. That perhaps a bird just scattered the leaves. But no, it wouldn't do so like this.

Taking into consideration that his sixth sense is informing him the source of his well of despair should be right before him, should be well within the clearing, certainly it is not coming from further into the trees.

Something is wrong here.

Fingers working over the damp leaves that set the forest floor alive with colour, Jasper freezing in place when a heartbeat suddenly thunders into existence. Right above him.

His head snaps up, tawny eyes with only the slightest hint of red meeting brilliant green and the end of a wooden stick.

 

 

 

They stare for a moment, the lady taking him in, even as Jasper captures every detail of the negative emotions' source now that she has presented herself. Of course, he finishes his observations long before she does, though that does not mean he is any less thorough for it.

Hair a riot of curls in a sunset red, eyes summer green and skin a tanned peach. Salt lingers in the air from the tears that rappel down her cheeks, the aroma of her blood fresh and crisp as her heart pounds within the cavity of her ribcage. Features set in a fierce expression, the stick of holly wood held in her hands and regarded as her greatest weapon in this confrontation.

The sight of it has him recalling tales Maria once told him, back during his early days as a 'mature vampire', old enough, mature enough to no longer be classified as a newborn. She had spoken in quiet whispers of the 'witches and wizards', of beings of magic that, with enough preparation, could take down even the most cautious vampire. But caught by surprise, they were useless. He remembers Maria spoke of 'wards', traps they could set to neutralize as vampire.

As Jasper is quite sure he can move, he's rather certain this woman was not expecting him, nor is she out here to hunt vampires. A simple twitch of his finger confirms this.

Confusion zings through his bones though, because he recalls how Maria spoke of them, as if they were extinct. She had heard of them from her creator, who had heard of them from his creator, but there had been no evidence of the 'magicals' since the time of the witch-hunts. Not to the point Maria had felt threatened by the idea of them.

Still, she had passed the tales on to Jasper, and it is because of that he can identify just what the woman before him is.

He remains still, quite sure that he can outmanoeuvre her if necessary, but unwilling to test her reflexes, just in case. After all, he has little information of 'wizards and witches'.

"Wha- you're not a Death Eater," she says this slowly, eyes focused on his bare forearms, the tee-shirt exposing the pale skin and the lacework of bite marks that cover them.

Jasper forces himself to blink, slowly and as humanly as possible, the woman watching the motion and the tense muscles of her shoulders are slowly relaxing.

Wrong, she shouldn't let her guard down, that will get her killed. Just because his eyes do not burn red, it does not mean he isn't a threat. He has torn vampires apart, it would take him much less effort to end her, to drain her dry.

Jasper grimaces, pushing the thought away and forcing himself to focus.

"I'm quite unsure just what a 'Death Eater' is, Ma'am."

That startles her. The manners that is. Society is changing, in a constantly state of instability, and apparently one of things to be dying a swift death is chivalry. Perhaps soon only vampires will have the time to play polite, and then it could be officially classed as dead.

"You're- I mean- Right," she coughs, face flushing as he smiles up at her.

He knows what she thinks, remembers the first time he met Maria and saw her unnatural beauty, he knows that she's quite startled by the attractiveness of his smile. Coupled with his polite speech and she seems rather unsure how to react.

"Sorry, are you a vampire?"

At this he does pause, moving slowly to straighten up out of his crouch and suddenly aware of just how much of a height difference there is between the two of them. Perhaps nearly a foot in total, give or take an inch or two.

"I am, Ma'am."

"Right, the er- the eyes threw me off a bit."

Whatever her problems are, there's clearly bad enough for her to leap at such a potentially dangerous distraction and Jasper something that is close to concern bubbling up in his stomach.

"I began a 'vegetarian' diet, only drinking from animals, three years ago, and it reflects in my eyes," he explains, watching the woman relax even more, though the holly stick does not lower from where it points at his chest, "I haven't cheated in near two-hundred days and I would quite like to keep improving that record."

Lips twitch up in a sad smile, one hand coming up to tug at the heavy locket that rests just between her breasts.

"Ah, I'm Hariel Potter," she offers, holding out her free hand in greeting, teeth nervously chewing at her lower lip though quite conscious not to break skin.

Emotions swirl, it's not difficult to conclude that she's looking for a distraction. There's also a sharp relief that came just after she said her name, almost as if she'd expected him to recognise it, but it rings no bells within his mind.

"It's a pleasure. Jasper Whitlock, Ma'am."

He presses a kiss to the back of her knuckles, refusing to inhale once again until the comely blush has vacated her face.

"What brings a vampire to the woods then?"

"Lunch brought me, Ma'am, you have my word that I am quite full with animal blood right now," Jasper drawls, and finally she relaxes completely, lowering her 'wand' but not before giving it a gentle wave, the holly tip circling in the air.

In that second everything becomes clear.

The sole patch of leaves that had been disturbed becomes a trail, leading up to a cosy little tent that is pitched central within the clearing.

That is all Jasper needs to begin believing in magic.

"And yourself? How did you end up in this forest, Ma'am?"

He can feel her longing for company, can feel the slight hope that he will not just turn around and leave She does not wish to be alone, yet she is. Where are her parents? The laws of the land have long since changed, she still looks young enough to not warrant being out on her own.

"I was camping, with my best friends. But they got tired of it."

"They left you? On your own?"

It's clear she's struggling for the right words to properly explain the situation, but Jasper already feels quite uncomfortable knowing that she is out here alone. Knowing that he isn't the only vampire in the world, and that she is quite lucky to have come across him, instead of another who would not be unwilling to take advantage of the situation.

And her emotions; she's so very unstable, it reminds him of the suicidal men he had once tried feeding on, back before he had switched to criminals. She's desperate and lonely enough to willingly invite what she knows is a vampire into her previously protected quarters, and if that does not showcase exactly what is wrong with this situation, then nothing else will.

"I am quite uncomfortable with the thought of you being out here on your own, Ma'am. Do you not have somewhere safer?" He trails off as bitter humour surges from her, and Jasper has to allow his own worry and concern to begin radiating from him in order to batter it back.

"I'm on the run, this is the safest place," she must see something in his eyes, for certainly he is not humane enough yet to be able to freely express his emotions upon his face, "there's a killer after me."

And if that doesn't raise all of his hackles, than Jasper is not sure quite what will.

"Just give me a name, Ma'am."

She laughs, absurdity tinting the sound, as if she does not believe he can do such a thing.

"You can't have been in the magical world for a while, Mr Whitlock. Come sit down and let me tell you a story."

 

 

 

 

**24th September 1997**

Standing guard over Hariel Lily Potter's temporary camp site as she sleeps is no hardship.

His mind is already spinning with all that he has learnt within the past twelve hours. 

It is perhaps silly, to feel such a connection to the woman as he does right now, yet Miss Potter is quite like him in one surface of her life. They had both wishes to fight, to defend their people and would proudly do so. But they have also been singled out, given no other choice but to fight or face death.

For him, he freely chose to fight with the Confederate Army, Maria's Coven forcing him to continue a fight he had not signed up for and instead keep pushing forwards in order to continue living.

Miss Potter, she would always stand against the man who killed her parents, but even if she did not wish to the choice would have been taken from her, given that so many are pushing for her to end this madman she is famed for 'vanquishing' as a baby.

The monumental pressure she is under, clearly now without any aid; Jasper cannot find it in his heart to walk away, nor would he even if he could scrap such a desire up. Leaving Miss Potter on her lonesome is not something he could have resting on his conscious as he continues on with his life.

 

 

 

When Miss Potter breaches her tent flaps, Jasper acknowledges this by climbing to his feet, offering her a pleasant smile as she startles at his presence.

"Have you really been out here all night?" She asks, disbelief lacing her tone even as something warm curls from her form.

"Yes, Ma'am, I did not feel comfortable knowing you were alone and in a vulnerable state."

"I'd have invited you in, if I'd known you were going to stay, Whitlock."

Jasper smiles ever so slightly, allowing Miss Potter to close the distance between them. Not that he would have accepted such a thing; that tent is perhaps a two man sleeper, to have fit both Miss Potter and two of her friends- well, they  must be very close friends indeed.

She stops before him and Jasper tries to recall just how long it has been since he has been so close to a pair of eyes that do not burn crimson. They are a fascinating opposite, vivid viridian without even a dash of hazel freckles within. Jasper is quite sure he has never seen eyes that shade before.

"Are-" she cuts herself off, frowning something fierce and looking away into the forest. She hasn't seen anything though, Jasper would have heard someone approaching, would have smelt their scent, would have felt their emotions.

No, she is just looking away because she's somewhat embarrassed by what she wishes to ask him. He makes a note of the little human mannerism; if he is going to become a successful vegetarian vampire, he will need to exhibit such human behaviour when he feels in control enough to walk among a crowd.

"What are you planning on doing now?" Miss Potter finally asks, and though she clearly isn't as comfortable as she'd like to be, as makes a concise effort to meet his gaze. And for that she has to be given points.

"I'm afraid I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone right now, Ma'am. There is obviously a fair amount of danger within these woods." He is of course referring to himself, and by her smile, Miss Potter realises that.

"Well I won't say no to the company. But you have to go inside the tent too."

Jasper does not point out that his kind do not sleep, instead offering her an agreeable nod of his head because it seems this is one of those things that Miss Potter will not be budged on. He recalls enough of his ways and manners to know one does not ignore a request from a lady.

When he actually walks into the tent, he soon finds out the reason behind her odd request. 

 

 

 

Magic is certainly a very incredible thing, Jasper thinks, slowly making his way over to the couch in order to seat himself upon it.

There are a handful of other single plush chairs, in varying shades of creamy pink and soft greens, matching up with the patchwork rug they rest upon. Three stairs at the very back of the impossibly large tent lead to a basic dining table within the centre, the right hand room acting as a master bedroom and with a bathroom on the left. Given the slashes of comforting cloth that hang from a multitude of surfaces, the little picture frames that have the occupants waving back out at him, the whole tent is far more homely than it has the right to be.

The sound of the tent flap behind him draws his attention and Jasper turns on heel before he can take a seat.

Miss Potter stands there, a little amused smile on her face and wand tapping against her leg.

"Welcome to my safe-house," she drily says, gesturing to the tent as a whole before making her way over to the quasi living-room. It smells unfortunately of cats, but it is a background scent, overtaken by Miss Potter's own delightful aroma, along with what he assumes belongs to her two friends. Before they left a hunted woman alone.

Jasper waits until the redhead takes a seat before sitting down himself, removing his backpack and placing it upon the ground by his booted feet.

Dressed in a simple pair of worn jeans and an equally well-used red jumper, his new companion looks to be any other teen out camping.

Certainly not someone dangerous, certainly not someone who deserves to be hunted down like an animal.

It is in this moment the Jasper knows his new lifestyle is for the best; hunting down humans for a source of food would bring him uncomfortably close to the devil of a man that hunts the young woman before him. That he can acknowledge that proves just how far he has come.

"Why did you stay?"

He can hear what she will not voice, the question of why he feels the need to remain. She assumes it is not what he has already stated.

"I was raised to protect women, Ma'am. You have a killer after you, and if there's anything I am good at, I am afraid that is fighting."

"If you stay with me, they won't hesitate to try killing you."

It is a repeat of what he already knows, and while a part of him wishes to regurgitate his previous answer, he just cannot do so. There is humour in this situation, but it is not something he wishes to sprout. Not when Miss Potter is so very serious about this.

The ever so slow wizards will not be able to catch him, but they are most certainly a threat to her.

"When I was human, I joined the army to make a difference. Since my turning, I have been without that ability. If remaining means I can save some lives, I would be honoured to aid you until you have other options."

"Well, as I'm short on friends right now, I'll need all the help I can get. Though please don't stick around out of duty if you find something else to do."

She scratches lightly at the back of her neck, a small smile blooming onto her lips as she looks away.

"Thank, Whitlock."

"Anytime, Ma'am."

 

 

 

It is in a somewhat awkward atmosphere that he finds himself, Miss Potter steadily preparing her lunch from a rather unappetising can of food.

He lets the slight tension remain, quite unwilling to begin influencing it with his gift. Leaving the caution to permit the air seems necessary when he considers it, though should it become any heavier he will smooth it down.

"So why are you in England, Mr American Vampire?" Miss Potter asks, sitting herself down and throwing him a package of sorts.

Jasper snatches it from the air in a flash of vampiric speed, taking note of Miss Potter's blatant flinch at the sudden movement. Her eyes barely manage to track it, but that in itself is a surprise, to be able to notice the movement instead of the end product.

Reading the label of the packaging, Jasper raising an eyebrow, flicking his eyes back up to look at the redhead across from him. She's sipping at the spoonful of soup, steam curling up from the bowl that rests upon the coffee table.

 "I ordered a lot of chocolate before this, and it was cheaper to get the package deal than just by the bars on their own, so I ended up with a lot of those," she gestures to the packet of 'blood-pops' Jasper holds in his hand, "I guess you'll enjoy them more than me, Whitlock."

Opening the packaging, he finds several lollipops, and were it not for the distinctive aroma, he'd believe them all strawberry. But resting one upon his tongue, the familiar sizzle of predator's blood flavours his mouth. Certainly they are not enough to live off of, but to momentarily settle the burning in his throat, they work fantastically.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

It is not just his thirst they soothe though, Miss Potter seems far more comfortable eating before him while he is also sating his own needs.

The silence is far more amiable now, accompanied by the sound of the redhead sipping at her spoon and the near silent clatter whenever he rolls the stick in his mouth and sends the lolly clattering against his teeth. The vampire venom is making quick work of it, but far slower than it would burn through anything else; clearly these have been created with vampiric traits in mind. 

"I came to Europe in hopes a fresh environment would allow for an easier transition to the 'vegetarian diet'."

Miss Potter cracks a grin at that, placing her spoon down within the empty bowl. She cradled her chin within one hand, elbow resting upon her knee to better support her head as her free hand drums a muffled beat upon the denim that covers her thigh. Her stare is blatant, though not as weighty as it could be. Curious even.

He wonders what she sees when she looks upon him, well aware that the generic vampire beauty has not skipped him in the least. No, he's more curious on if she can see the crescents that decorate the vast majority of his skin, spiralling in a thick netting across his forearms and around his neck.

"Why try the vegetarian diet if humans are easier and more satisfying?" She finally asks, and there's no judgement in her eyes, just curiosity, a wonderment over why he is attempting such a thing.

"Some vampires, as I assume you are aware, Ma'am, wake from their turning with a gift. I am an empath, I can feel the emotions of all those around me, as well as influence them. Feeding from humans, I can feel their fear and despair."

"It was too much," she finishes, face soft and he can feel her sadness as she says it. Her hands reach to the heavy locket she sports around her neck, fingers stroking over the snake shaped crest. Her eyes are half-lidded, dark bruising resting beneath in a clear indicator to sleepless nights.

While no sound passes from the innards of the tent to the outside world, Jasper can tell her slumber is restless from the condition the bedsheets have been left in, all twisted and shoved to the very bottom of the mattress. The military training that still persists in his bones has his fingers twitching, the urge to straighten them into pristine neatness rising.

"I'd rather you get to know me, before you throw your lot in with me."

"That sounds fine, Ma'am."

"Well, we need to move the tent to a different location first. So I suppose this'll be your first lesson on magical travel, Whitlock." 

 

 

 

Apperation is a terribly unpleasant experience, no matter how incredibly efficient. Just because he is a vampire, it does not remove him from the squeezing sensation, of pressure applied on every inch of his skin.

Regardless, he still lands perfectly fine on his feet and with enough sense about him to capture Miss Potter's arm before she can go stumbling to the floor.

It is only a gentle hold on her elbow, but she flinches regardless, clearly unused to physical contact. What is the term that has recently been penned? Ah, post traumatic stress disorder, is it? No, that's being too presumptuous.

In the very least, it is a bout of healthily instilled paranoia.

"Thanks," she murmurs quietly, inspecting the open moors she has brought them to.

Jasper offers her a dip of his head, ensuring her footing is solid before he releases the careful hold he has upon her arm.

The moors are quite a sight, even with the sun hiding behind a thick layer of cloud, a tentative promise of storms in the near future. In the wind, the long grass moves like near-cresting waves, splashing up against the rocks that protrude occasionally across the landscape. Sheep move lazily along the land, though they make a very conscious effort to not approach in his direction, their semi-panicked bleats echoing across the open plain.

"If you want to begin creating your protections, then I can set up the tent?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, Whitlock."

Miss Potter offers him a tried smile, but she nevertheless gets to work.

The tent is up in mere seconds, thanks to vampiric speed, leaving Jasper ample time to sit back and watch as the witch performs her magic. Every swipe of the wand, Jasper is treated to a dazzling show of magic, watching the energy sprout from the tip and bloom into existence. Each whispering shimmer creates a dome around the tent, extending perhaps fifteen feet out from each corner of the canvas. The magic comes in a variety of colours, the only bridging factor appearing to be that they all come with an overlaying pearly sheen, not quite glittering but certainly emitting some form of gentle glow.

He doesn't even realize he's staring until Miss Potter raises a brow, having stored her wand away somewhere and pulled her riot of wild curls up into an exceptionally messy bun.

"Last chance to back out," she warns, and it is not a playful tease. She is in fact quite serious, worried even for what should happen to him were he to remain.

How very strange.

He has admitted to being a monster genetically programmed to feed upon her, to drain her body completely of blood, and yet she wishes for his company.

Oh, she will not actively seek it, no, but she hopes. Unwilling to push her presence upon him, just silently praying that he will chose to remain; she needs him but will not even dare to ask him to stay.

The complete opposite of Maria.

He cannot possibly say no.

"It'll take a lot more than that to get rid of me, Ma'am."

And she smiles.

How long has it been, Jasper thinks, since a woman smiled at him like that? Perhaps not ever during his time as a vampire. Charlotte tries, but she is still caught up over the fact Jasper would have had no problems severing her head from her shoulders. It is all in the past now, but the fact still remains.

Maria, Maria never smiled pleasantly at him. Oh, she might have smiled, it is after all a gesture used to express an ease with someone's presence, but it was never to express such happiness. Possessiveness over how effective he was? Yes. Something sultry and territorial? That too.

But never just because he had chosen to grace her with his presence.

Not like how Miss Hariel Potter looks at him now, as if he is not a vampire war veteran, not as if he is the key to all her ambitions, but as if he is simply the company she oh so desperately needs.

"Thanks, Whitlock. Now come on, I like to know a little more about a friend than just their name."

  
 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**3rd October 1997**

"Seven of Hearts."

Jasper flicks his eyes up to look at Potter, who smiles toothily back, daring him to call out her bluff.

It has been near two weeks since they met, two weeks since Jasper decided to stick beside Hariel Potter to ensure her safety. Just until she is no longer on her own. Now though, now he stays because he has found a friend.

"Liar," Jasper says slowly, lips forming the word carefully, though with the way her eyes light up he instantly knows he's made a mistake.

Indeed when the card is flipped over atop the pile, it exposes seven red hearts, all neatly aligned and with a begrudging smile Jasper accepts the pile into his hand.

"I believe it's my question?"

"Ask away, Darlin'."

Getting to know one another had been awkward, right up until Potter had stumbled across the idea of a card game. Now, for every time one of them trips up during their plays, the other gets to ask a question. And since, things have been flowing much more smoothly.

"Boxers or briefs?"

At that Jasper does bark out a laugh, genuinely surprised and amused.

"I'm joking. How old were you when you were turned?"

"Nineteen, Ma'am."

Potter nods, lips twitching up in a smile of her own before she places another of her cards upon the table, the three of diamonds face up.

Gathering up the vast array of fours he now holds in his exceptionally larger hand of cards, Jasper flicks all four of them down, fully informing the woman that he has presented four fours. She does not disagree with him.

Her own hand is face down upon the desk, fingers more occupied with peeling the orange she has been rolling back and forth for the past ten minutes. The citrus scent is somewhat nauseating, but he imagines it smells far better to his current company. The flesh splits beneath her short fingernails, sticky juice spilling out over the plam of her hand and Potter scowls in irritation. She still plucks up the ruined segment and presses it past her lips, sucking it into her mouth with only the slightest flash of pink tongue to follow it. After all in her current situation, she can afford no waste.

It is in fact something of a treat to have oranges at all; Jasper had skilfully moved through the muggle world to purchase her some supplies, but his funds are not infinite.

As such, Potter has taken to summoning animals to the campsite for him. While it ruins the thrill of the chase, it does mean that she can keep the carcass when he is done with it, that she can have the meat to live off of.

"Eight of spades."

"No chance, I've got all the eights," Jasper admits, watching Potter roll her eyes as she drags the small pile across the tabletop towards her, barely missing the slight puddle of orange juice as she does so.

As the redhead goes about reordering her hand, Jasper carefully considers what his next question will be.

He has already learnt her age -seventeen- when her birthday is -31st July- and an assortment of other mismatched facts. She favours treacle tart, her favourite colour is green -for her mother's eyes- she likes to sing but her skill at formal dancing is almost nonexistent.

"Why do you keep fighting this Dark Lord? Why not just run away, as it seems this country has done very little for you before?"

Potter's face goes curiously blank. She taps one segment of orange against the flesh of her bottom lip, deliberating.

Given he has all the time in the world, Jasper is more than content to sit and wait while her brain whirls, carefully wording her answer.

"Because I had the potential to become him," Potter finally says at last, "and if I don't want to become like that, the surest way is to oppose him."

It is only when she finishes speaking that Potter pops the orange segment into her mouth, chewing quietly as Jasper accepts the answer and places another card atop the table.

 

The cycle continues.

 

 

**5th October 1997**

They quickly learn there is some form of enchantment upon the enemy's name, for not long after Potter first voices it, agents of the enemy fraction arrive.

It is also the first time that Jasper kills in front of his new companion, all but one of their would be assailants falling by his hands. Certainly they are nothing compared to the newborns he has faced. They are unprepared for his assault, without the talent to save themselves from such a shock.

It's easy, easy enough that Jasper can take into consideration his desire to not tempt himself, and thus while they all die from broken necks, their fallen bodies spill no blood.

They need to get information from someone though, which is why he leaves one alive. Albeit, Jasper does take the time to crush the bones in his hands, ensuring that there will be no wand waving from this wizard.

The man they capture is scrawny, hair matted to his forehead with now absent sweat, the perspiration having dried up in the face of his fear. Eyes, bloodshot and a watery grey, flicker back and forth between Potter and Jasper, as if trying to decide which of them is better to begin pleading to.

Jasper knocks him unconscious with one controlled blow.

 

 

Two hours and sixteen apperation jumps across the country later, they have a new base set up on the western coast of England, secure a place as they can mange for an interrogation.

Potter's eyes are framed by dark smudges, a visual representation of the constant shuffle of sheets, the constant creak of bedsprings he can always hear from inside the tent at night. He refuses to remain inside out of respect for the lady's privacy, instead spending his time reading outside with the moon to light his pages. One of the many qualities of vampiric sight means reading beneath the moonlight is no strain at all. The tired but firm set of her mouth is indication enough that Potter will not remain out of this though.

Jasper drops the man into one of the wooden chairs pulled from the dining room of the tent, a quick wave of Potter's wand securing the man in bounds that would take supernatural strength to break.

There is a question in Potter's eyes, but it isn't until the words are voiced that Jasper realises it is not for their unconscious enemy, but instead for him.

"Does animal blood make you weaker?"

Jasper does not even get a chance to reply, it must show in his face, for Potter nods to herself and then retreats off to the bathroom.

It is only a minute later that she returns, a silver flask clasped in her hand but the lid nowhere near right enough to disguise the delightful aroma that wafts off of it.

"Where did you get that?" Jasper asks and his voice is hoarse, the back of his throat far too dry for this. Had he been this thirsty before they were attacked?

"I've been storing my own blood; I go right back to normal after a blood replenisher so I've been taking a litre or so a day. Just in case we end up somewhere where you can't hunt. But if this is easier for you..." She trails off, delicately shrugging her shoulder and red curls tumble with the motion.

Ever since that first day, Potter has been wearing a scent disgusting charm, completely erasing temptation every time Jasper inhales. Alongside that, her heartbeat is hidden and all there is to possibly draw his attention is the visuals. As long as he does not look too closely upon her, his companion does not even register as prey.

That stands, thankful, when he drains the flask dry, quite unable to help himself. But this does not cost human life, this is blood freely given with a regard to military advantages that Jasper can appreciate. He is stronger with human blood flowing through his system, and Potter has taken that into consideration. If he is to remain by her side, then she sees to it he is in top condition while doing so.

There has to be something about magical blood too, Jasper hasn't felt anywhere close to this strong since he was a newborn. The taste is refined, a richness that has him satisfied instantly and when he finishes off that last drop it becomes apparent he's not in desperate need for more. Pleasantly full even.

When his eyes meet Potter's a startled gasp escapes her lips, flicking her gaze to the right and away from him. Something like fear zings through her for a moment, followed by embarrassment.

There's also a flattering amount of attraction.

Even though she's human, Jasper can admit she is rather pleasing on the eye herself.

"I didn't realise your eyes would go red so fast," she whispers, tone soft even as she turns on heel to inspect their prisoner.

"Is that a problem, Ma'am?"

A stretch of quiet, and then, "No. Not really, Whitlock."

Whatever else they could have possibly said, before Jasper can continue the thread of conversation, is halted as their unconscious friend finally awakens.

He takes one look between them, one look at Potter's face, which has become steadily more and more world-weary over the days he's spent with her, and one look at Jasper's. The red eyes seem to register first and the coward decides he fancies his chances with Potter over him. He must remember just how easily Jasper had gone about dispatching his colleagues.

Perhaps he also believes that just because she is a woman, that Potter is weak. Jasper has not made that assumption again, not since Maria.

"Mercy, please."

Potter's dainty hand slaps him hard around the face, the sharp crack ringing through the tent. Jasper catches her wrist as the man whimpers in pain.

"Easy there, Darlin'. We need his jaw to work for information."

The man whimpers but Jasper pays him no attention, instead catching Potter's eyes. She holds his gaze for a moment, face still showcasing her anger, temper still short.

Every day he is here her temper seems to grow shorter and for the first time, Jasper reaches out with his gift and begins to sooth her rough edges.

Instantly he knows something is wrong, can feel a secondary influence that is twisting Potter's frustration, taking the rather understandable annoyance and twisting it into something darker, something far more malicious.

Instead of gently calming his companion down, Jasper finds himself doing battle for the right to influence Potter's emotions. It is only because of his own gift that he can locate the source, and in an instant he rips the clunky locket from her neck.

Potter barely has time to cry out in surprise before he has plucked her up and dashed to the master bedroom, where their prisoner will not overhear them.

"This necklace is influencing your emotions," he plainly states; the evidence is obvious to him. He who can see how Potter's eyes suddenly look so much brighter now, how the almost defeated curve of her shoulders has started to straighten out.

"It's not do-" she cuts off, red brows furrowing and lips moulding into a stern pout as she thinks.

Jasper waits, well aware of how emotional manipulation needs to be pointed out. After all, very few ever realise that is just what he is doing, and even those few have only ever clicked on if he was being particularly heavy handed with his gift.

"Vampire venom," Potter suddenly breaths and there's a look of excitement that has never quite been there before, a surge of powerful positive emotion that he has yet to otherwise witness on her face.

"Venom?"

"Yes, Remus said vampire venom can destroy almost anything, is that true?"

When Jasper gives a low almost questioning nod of his head, Potter beams, snatching up the necklace and brandishing it before his face.

"You might be able to destroy the Horcrux in this!"

 

 

In the face of a cracked locket, Jasper finds himself with a far more optimistic Potter now more than ready to tag team with him against their captured foe.

They find out there is a form of enchantment on the enemy's name, for only those who rebel against him dare to use that term of address, that when spoken aloud will bring the enemy's forces upon them. As a tactic it's certainly effective, that much Jasper can appreciate. So for now, Potter has taken to calling her foe 'Riddle'.

Part of Jasper wishes to take advantage of the obvious flaw in the enemy's enchantment; to have Potter keep using the name and then allow Jasper to dispatch whomever responds to the call. It would certainly be an effective manner with which to whittle down the opposing forces. But he can already tell that Potter does not yet have the stomach for it. He'll suggest it later on, when the hardships of war have set in a bit more.

Though Potter has mind enough to silence their prisoner once they have squeezed him for all the information she can manage. A spell to erase every last memory of a person is a dangerous thing indeed, though Potter hesitates only a moment before using it.

Sitting within the tent, Jasper having just returned from a run to drop the mindless 'Death Eater' off some fifty miles away, the two of them sit and stare at the ruined locket.

"Well," Potter breathes, burning determination in her eyes, "onto the next one."

 

 

**31st October 1997**

They have had very little luck on the Horcrux front.

Jasper is still not entirely sure just what they are, only that they are important to the enemy and thus must be destroyed. He attempts to think logically on where he would hide something of supreme importance, but given Potter's description of 'Riddle', that's not exactly useful when trying to recreate the enemy's thought process. Jasper is not mad, nor has he ever been, and thus struggles to even find a place to begin.

Halloween is upon them now, and the two of them are in disguise, taking a night off. An attempt to come back at the problem with a clear head in the morning.

Potter has dressed herself as the stereotypical witch, pointed hat, flowing robe and cauldron in hand. The only thing that spoils her outfit is the face she wears, it remains too pretty to truly be considered 'witchy'.

Presenting himself as 'Count Dracula', Jasper has seen little change other than his current clothing, though he has bothered to smooth out his honeyed curls into a more severe slicked-back style. Potter had laughed when she first saw him, so this night has brought joy to both of them so far. Halloween reminds him of home, perhaps in a handful of years he will be confident enough in himself to return.

In the mirror his eyes glow, a reflection of the human blood he has ingested. Potter remains insistent on donating her own blood to him, on making sure he is in the best condition possible.

It is, nice. Having someone who cares like that. Unselfishly, that is.

Maria only wanted him around for how well he could keep the newborns under control, and Charlotte only put up with his presence during their travels because he is the strongest fighter out of the three of them. Oh, there might be genuine affection between them now, although not quite the friendship he shares with Peter. But that is only from spending so much time together.

"Ready to go?" Potter asks, adjusting the tilt of her hat, one raised eyebrow almost hidden beneath the dark brim. Her green eyes run over his form, assessing what she sees, before reaching out with red stained fingers. The scent is strange and when he searches for it, Jasper spots the red food dye bottle on the kitchen worktop. She's painting a trail of red around the corners of his mouth, following the slight curves of his jaw to do so.

Jasper remains unnaturally still, well aware that this is the most intimate contact he has ever had since Maria. Potter's fingers, while rougher than a vampire's, are warm as they mark up his face, her own features a mask of concentration.

She flicks her fingers once or twice at his neck, the red droplets splashing up against the column of skin messily.

"Blood done," she muses, a little smile on her lips.

They are still standing close together, enough that Jasper could wrap his forearm around Potter's shoulders without having to step forwards. It's easy to see the veins beneath Potter's skin, especially with the thin layering that covers her eyes. Each individual eyelash, some clumped together with water from her recent shower.

Without the distraction of her blood, Jasper notes she still smells reasonably pleasant, that she smells warm. It's nice.

"We should probably head out," Potter whispers, tone quiet, as if she too does not wish to interrupt this moment.

She's been studying him too, her emotions in some form of overhaul, settling like still water. He cannot quite read the depths of them, not without serious effort that he actually doesn't want to make right now. Her breath is hot against him, even through the fabric of his shirt.

"Allow me, Darlin'."

Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, Jasper very carefully takes Potter's hands, making sure to project his movements, wiping the red stain free of her fingers.

Potter's silent as he does so, eyes contemplative even as she nervously shuffles from foot to foot.

"Right. Outside," she murmurs in something of a daze.

One of her hands catches his, stubborn red dye still crusted around the nail of her forefinger, skin so startlingly warm against his.

Jasper follows.

 

 

**9th November 1997**

"I want to go see my parents."

Looking up from his book -children's tales for wizards and witches- at the admittance, Jasper raises an eyebrow in question as Potter sinks slightly more into her chair.

"No one's ever taken me to their grave, and I don't know if I'll get a chance otherwise," she quietly explains and well, how can Jasper do anything other than accompany her now?

Looking down upon the page he has just finished reading, Jasper runs his fingers over the inked symbol that rests in the margins, wondering why Potter would deface the book with such an odd symbol.

 

 

Godric's Hallow turns out the be a cosy little hamlet that Potter informs him to be occupied by both the magical and the muggle. It is a quaint place, the kind that Jasper expects to be seven shades of charming were it covered in snow, a place that belongs on the face of Christmas cards.

Potter stands beside him, a knitted hat jammed onto her head, the vast majority of red curls stuffed beneath the dark green fabric. With cheeks turning rosy in the face of the new winter wind, she looks incredibly appealing. Her eyes, such a bright green that they capture his attention constantly, swivel around the area, taking in the sight of her parents resting place.

The thought grounds Jasper, reminds him that this isn't just another moment where Potter is walking along, attempting to understand her enemy, attempting to unravel his secrets. This is a precious moment for his companion, the first time she will be granted the ability to visit the grave of her parents. Maybe even the last time, should she be unable to prevail in the face of her would-be murderer.

Running a hand through his half-curls, Jasper takes a step closer to Potter and offers her his arm. She stares for a moment, hands pale from where they peek out beneath coat sleeves. Regardless, after that sole moment of hesitation, fingers wrap themselves around the crook of his elbow, grip light and hesitant.

It is not yet cold enough for human eyes to witness it, but Jasper's advanced eyesight catches the way her breath visibly rolls in the air, little clouds that form with every exhale.

Lips ever so slightly pursed, Potter is silent as she walks beside him, the crunch of their boots upon the hard earth their only companion.

 

 

The graveyard is not hard to find, and Jasper pushes open the heavy iron-wrought gate with ease. The church is as quaint as the village it sits within, though he wonders if it were the church or the famous wizard for which the hamlet is named after that came first.

The concept of Christ and Christendom seems false given the certainty of magic, of witches and wizards that they had once sought to burn at the stake. Perhaps it is sacrilege for them to be here, for a witch and a vampire to tread upon what could be considered holy ground. But regardless, the bodies of two magicals rest here, the very two they are here to see. So it cannot be completely blasphemy, surely?

Potter stops before a grave, her trembling so very evident to his senses, her hold upon his arm tightening with tremors echoing through the contact.

His eyes, almost glowing red from the blood he consumed the previous evening, scan across the simple tombstone, absorbing the major details. James and Lily Potter. Both had departed from this world on the 31st of October, 1981, leaving Hariel Potter as their only heir.

'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'. An odd quote indeed.

"Can I have a few minutes?" Potter asks, eyes never once leaving the slab of stone before them.

"Of course, Darlin'. I'll remain on guard." 'So you can let yours down' goes unsaid, but Potter nods her head in gratitude anyway.

Slowly sliding his arm free, Jasper's fingers brush against Potter's for a moment, catching on the scar that rests upon her knuckles, tracing the words for a fraction of a second.

Something fierce lights up in Jasper's gut.

"I won't be long." It sounds like a promise, a reassurance even though Jasper tries his best to not take it as such.

With Peter and Charlotte, it always seemed as if he were intruding upon them, as if they allowed him to travel alongside them out of misplaced obligation. Is it so wrong of him to wish for a companion of his own?

And Potter, she doesn't seem averse to his companion. It is a different thing though, to travel with someone under set circumstances, as opposed to giving up your life to accompany another. Hariel Potter has a world, and Jasper has only become a small part of it. True he seems prominent right now, a central point.

But he has no promises that it will remain so.

Potter is not a vampire, she is human, a magical one at that. Change is guaranteed for her kind, unlike he, who remains still and perpetual. Perhaps though, he can hope that Potter will keep him in some respects. Even just having another amiable companion to touch base with once in a while would be nice.

Even if Potter continues to grow, continues to age, she is open to the idea of friendship with him, that much is clear.

"Hi Mum, Dad."

Jasper tries not to listen, but upon a day when few people in this little village see the need to go outside, and with his vampiric senses, there is no way to avoid it.

He can block some words out, focus on the rustling of branches a few streets over as pigeons hop about between the bracken, but he cannot help but to tune in when his name is mentioned.

"-I think you'd like Whitlock, Mum. He's nice, for a vampire. I know I probably gave Dad a heavenly coronary when you saw I was in the company of a vampire. But, he's been good to me. Wouldn't leave me alone and vulnerable. A real gentleman. I'm pretty sure Padfoot's foaming at the mouth up there. But he's looking after me. I'll see this through to the end. And then- I don't know. Maybe I'll travel for a bit. Find a nice guy. Not like the toe-rag you settled for, Mum." She laughs, humour evident in the voice thick with unshed tears.

In little more than a whisper, Potter murmurs, "I'll try to come back again when this is all over."

Focusing upon the gravestone he has stopped before, Jasper does his very best to pretend he was not listening in.

Only to find himself staring at the very symbol that he had seen not an hour ago, upon the pages of a children's book.

 

 

**11th November 1997**

"Gringotts?"

What a strange name for a bank. But if Jasper were to hide anything of value, it would certainly be in a place that claims to be impossible to rob. Given that no successful heist of the bank has ever happened, it seems a safe bet for a potential 'Horcrux location'.

Potter seems to think so too, given the way she is all but vibrating in excitement.

Finally, after a month of constant changes in location, after three run ins with the 'Snatchers' whom work for the enemy fraction, they appear to be getting somewhere. Jasper has killed more humans these past few weeks than he did at all the previous year. But, that was to feed upon, this is war, fighting an oppressing force that will kill an untold amount should they succeed.

This is the kind of thing Jasper can stand for, that he finds himself proud to stand against.

Even if it appears to be just he and Hariel Potter against the world right now.

"We will have to research," Jasper states, manner controlled as Potter bounces to her feet and makes her way to the fridge.

The silver flask that is as good as his now sails through the air, Jasper snatching it up a mere moment later. The scent is familiar, the taste like ambrosia upon his tongue. Now that he has tasted magical blood, Jasper is almost fearful at the idea of having to resort to animal blood when this is all over. Only, a part of him is not sure if it ever will be.

For all the time he has spent with Potter so far, she has made no conversation as to her plans when this is all over.

Looking upon the girl now, Jasper takes a moment to just observe. Not her appearance, which he has by now committed to memory.

Instead, he focuses on her demeanour.

So very comfortable with his presence, Potter has no problem sliding back onto the sofa they share. After a moment of hesitant, her hips twist, so that her back rests agains the arm and her feet rest mere inches from his thigh, legs half-drawn up.

It does not take him much thought to take a careful hold of her ankles, guiding her feet into his lap, so that her legs stretch out across the sofa. His fingers slowly dig into her soles, skin smelling of vanilla soap from her recent bath. Her form is tense at first, slowly relaxing into his movements though, a flash of confusion across her face.

"Whitlock?" Uncertainty crests over Potter's features and Jasper stills his fingers, allowing his cold hands to rest atop his lap as his companion waits for him to speak.

"What are you going to do after the war, Darlin'?"

"I don't know," and he has his answer, given in such an insecure, anxious voice.

Legs draw back and instead Potter shuffles forwards, though it takes a moment for Jasper to realise she is seeking physical comfort from him.

Tentatively, he loops an arm around Potter's back as she settles beside him, threading his fingers through her's when they come seeking whatever strength he is willing to share.

"I want to get away, to not be the Girl-Who-Lived. To just be Harry." Like a secret, a wish willed upon a star and never spoken aloud for fear of the promise breaking.

And all Jasper can recall is how he had ran from Mexico the second he knew freedom was out there. How he had never looked back, despite the discomfort of it being not quite right. Because it had been entirely wrong in Mexico.

Perhaps it isn't perfect, what he has going now. But it is a step in the right direction, it is better than where he was before. Right here, right now, that kind of assurance, that kind of promise is what Potter is looking for.

"It might not be much of a way of like, Darlin', but I'd be happy to have a companion if you want to travel and find yourself."

Desperately hopeful eyes find his, seem to fin the reassurance they are looking for, because thin arms wrap around his waist and squeeze, a head burying in the crook of his shoulder.

"I'd like that, to get away when it's all done with."

It is only just that he manages to bite his tongue, to prevent himself from saying he would like the company too.

Because he will not pressure the vulnerable lady in his arms.

"Thanks Whitlock."

 

 

They take five minutes to gather themselves, to gather their messy emotions, and then with Potter's cloak of invisibility, they head for the bank. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some songs to go with this pairing;  
> Jinx - DNCE  
> I believe in you - Michael Bublé  
> Body say - Demi Lavato  
> Got you on my mind - NF  
> Lost in you - Three Days Grace


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

**18th November 1997**

For an entire week, they spend their time watching Gringotts, observing all those that enter and leave through the grand marble doors. It is a heady thing, to sit upon a rooftop beneath this cloak and watch eyes slide right over their forms, Jasper thinks.

Sitting, waiting and watching is what he is best at; as a vampire the need to fidget, the need to shuffle and adjust positions is lost upon him.

Impossibly still, Jasper sits upon the shingles of the roof and he takes note of everything. Of every single person that passes below, be they with the enemy or just scared citizens attempting to pretend everything is normal.

It pains him to watch the later, as he feels both their desperation, and their defeat. But it stokes a fire in him too. It is so painfully clear they were unsatisfied with their situation, yet they do not stand up and fight. They sit back, praying and hoping for another to solve it all for them, to fix everything that is wrong. They do not even try.

Jasper tries not to focus upon the citizens too much for that reason, even if he must look and search for all the information he can among their crumpling forms.

The Death Eaters are just as easy to identify; they walk with a smugness to their steps, a surety that they are higher upon the chain of command than those that pass them by. It does not mean that they do not suffer though.

For every three steps, they turn their heads, look for threats, and there is caution in their eyes. Riddle, this Dark Lord that threatens his companion's life, is true madness contained within a barely human form according to Hariel Potter. Jasper trusts her words, trusts her to not underestimate her enemy, be it the man with desires upon her life, or a slanted roof into on sending her tumbling.

His arms are wrapped ever so carefully around Hariel's waist, loose enough that the constant fluctuation of her ribcage as she breathes sees her sides brushing against his forearms again and again.

Sitting within his lap, the redhead witch watches the people go by with recognition flashing in her eyes. These are people to her, some of them she will have spoken to, some of them she might even consider friends. Strangers and nothing more to Jasper, but some of those down upon that cobbled street have meaning to Hariel.

The familiar scent of her warm skin is thick beneath the heavy drape of the invisibility cloak, the delicious aroma of blood absent in the face of her charm work.

Even encased in his cold arms, Hariel does not shiver. If anything, she presses herself a little more into his hold every so often and the memory of her almost falling from the rooftop upon their first day staking out the bank flashes once again through his mind. She is not safe up here on her own, with only a human's capability when it comes to balance and agility. Without him, she would have tumbled off by now, would probably have been discovered. It feels good to know that he is contributing.

"Bellatrix."

Her voice is a curious mixture of loathing and excitement and she speaks, leaning forwards and forcing Jasper to tighten his hold upon her, for fear of her meeting this 'Bellatrix' far sooner than would be preferred.

Upon the street, a woman with eyes as mad as her hair strolls to the bank. She is not like the others, there is no caution in her limbs, no fear. Jasper has never seen insanity like this, such a lack of self preservation he has only ever witnessed in newborns. That alone puts him on edge.

Resting his head atop Hariel's mane of red curls, Jasper watches the woman stalk through the alley, how everyone does their utmost best to get the hell out of her way.

"Riddle gave the diary to Malfoy, and the locket was linked to Sirius' brother," Hariel whispers beneath her breath, low enough a human would struggle to hear but it comes loud and clear to Jasper's ears, "Bellatrix is his most loyal."

Jasper needs no clearer words than those. With the skilful movements afforded only to a vampire, the blond American stands, a startled Hariel curled up bridal style within his arms and invisibility cloak balanced carefully upon their forms.

Following this Bellatrix when she appears to have a permanent ten feet of personal space around her is not difficult in the slightest.

 

Moving through the bank however, proves far more difficult.

 

Even though Hariel's heartbeat is hidden beneath her charmwork, even if their scents are masked and the cloak erases them from sight, it still feels as if the goblins know they are present.

Jasper moves slowly, his red haired companion having shuffled about until she is all but sat in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms thrown over his shoulder in an almost intimate embrace. Logically it makes sense, he guards the front, capable of holding Hariel's weight in one arm while the other is free to defend them. She protects his back, her wand clenched in one hand, sharp green eyes as alert as her posture is tense. Working beneath this cloak, it is not really possible to stand back to back without risk of exposing themselves. It is, after all, designed to be used by one person alone and Jasper is not exactly the shortest of beings.

"Take me to my vault, you filthy creature!"

Shrill and vicious, 'Bellatrix's' voice rings through the bank, several customers flinching at the demand.

Jasper steadily approaches and he needs no spells to silence his steps, so steady he walks.

Shadowing the woman, the vampire finds himself led into a hallway, where white marble gives way to black stone. There is the distant roar of a waterfall, thunderous in the way it bounces off the descending cliff faces, the only indication as to just how far into the earth this depression stretches.

Taking a seat upon the back of the iron cart, Jasper takes a moment to ensure Hariel is comfortable seated on his lap as she is before he tucks the edges of the cloak beneath his thighs.

As they rumble through the vaults, Jasper learns that the 'Thief's Downfall' is no match for Hariel's cloak, and that some wizards believe it a completely logical idea to protect their wealth with dragons.

Needless to say, creatures that suspire fire are something Jasper does not need a warning to be cautious of. While reasonably certain he can get out of the firing range quick enough, he would rather not put that to the test.

 

 

This Bellatrix whom stands among Riddle's most trusted makes it easy for them. She screams, demands the goblin retreat from her vault, that he is not worthy to look upon the vast wealth she has accumulated, collected from her husband's family, from those she has killed and stolen from.

Jasper stands beside Hariel, the green eyed witch tucked neatly against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her waist and ready to pull her to safety if any form of dangers dares to rear its ugly head. He has precious few friends, enough to count upon one hand. Peter. Charlotte. And now, Hariel.

Of those three, Jasper would leave none of them to fight a war alone.

But it is only Hariel that he would protect so viciously, because she is far more delicate than his coven-mates. Hariel Potter is warm, caring. But she is also so damningly human, so fragile and breakable and mortal.

He will not allow death to grasp her before she is ready.

If part of him hopes that she will forever deny the entity, that she is secretly spinning about the concept of immortality within that pretty little head, he tries not to dwell upon the idea too much. Only if she asks, he promises himself.

Only if she asks.

The vault door opens with an ominous groan, and it is not even a second later that Jasper has shed the cloak, snapped a wand, and restrained the enemy agent. Hariel silences her before she can scream.

Up close, those eyes are beyond wild. There is uncivilized, and then there is savage. It is discomforting to realize just how much this woman reminds him of a newborn vampire.

Does she too lust for blood? Is that perhaps why she is so enthralled with this 'Dark Lord', who seems to do nothing other than shed the blood of innocents wherever he goes?

"Unhand me!" His crazy captive snarls when he hidden daggers fails to so much as puncture his skin. in fact, it just bounces straight off of his ribs, creating a series of tinkling clings and chimes as it skips across the ground.

"Why would we do that?"

"Potter!" The name is hissed with venom, the struggle returning to the woman's limbs and Jasper shifts until he has her in a secure chokehold.

One wrong move, and he'll snap her neck.

Right now, his companion just stand opposite him, arms folded across her chest and wand tapping against the curve of her collarbone, deliberating.

"What do you know about a golden cup that your Lord treasures?"

In an instant he can feel the woman's emotions surge, a panic lacing through her and Jasper knows in that moment she understands exactly what Hariel is talking of. The way her eyes dart so quick to the open vault; it's obvious.

"It's in the vault," Jasper concludes and the struggle grows ever more frantic, dark promises of death and destruction leaving from between her poisoned lips.

"You'll hold her?" Hariel asks and all Jasper can do is nod, watching as her red hair disappears into the vault.

The chorus of Bellatrix's cursing is joined mere seconds later by clinks of metal against metal, and after what seems like an eternity, Hariel comes spiralling back out upon a wave of ever multiplying gold. He can smell burning flesh, she's injured, and it is only the knowledge that this woman he restrains if deadly that stops him from rushing to her side.

"Got yourself a vampire, lickle-Potter? How would dear Sirius feel about you consorting with such a dark creature!" She cackles, the panic and fury as hidden as a glittering gemstones in shallow waters. It is as evident to him as Hariel's mounting fury, surging and frothing like the early warning signs of a tsunami.

"Where are you friends, deary? Are the dead? Did they leave you all alone? Maybe I killed them too, like I killed Sirius Black!" It's sung, off key and clearly a taunt, but Hariel still falls for it. The very tip of her wand is pressing dangerously into Bellatrix's cheek, lifted by her mad grin.

"You don’t have the guts. Lickle Potter couldn’t use the Unforgivables when it counted, and now her precious Godfather's dead."

Hariel punches her.

It's a good punch, a solid right hook that indicates a far amount of practice.

Bellatrix's nose pops, blood gushing down her face and Jasper stops breathing. He doesn't dare to look at it, but he can sense the liquid, hyperaware.

"We're not going to kill her," Hariel says, calm even as Bellatrix thrashes in the cage of his arms, clearly seeking retribution for her broken nose.

For a moment, Jasper believes this to be the end of it, and he mentally begins to prepare his argument as to why leaving an enemy, especially such a high ranking one, alive is a bad idea. His companion pulls the rug out from beneath his feet before he can speak though.

"As far as the goblins will know, she fell off the ledge."

Bellatrix goes still for a second, as if absorbing her words and their meaning, while Jasper himself checks to see if Hariel is serious.

But she is, she truly believes this woman deserves death.

So with no hesitation in his movements, Jasper throws the woman back and over the edge.

 

Hariel's human hearing does not register the sickening crunch, the queasy sounding splat that she makes against the very bottom of the chasm.

And for that, Jasper is thankful.

 

 

 

**20th November 1997**

Stopping before a bench within the semi-magical village, Jasper seats himself upon the sturdy wood, only to find Hariel copying his movements, so close that their thighs brush against one another.

Not since they escaped undetected from the bank, golden trophy in hand, have they been this close. Jasper can recall scaling the cliff face, Hariel's legs wrapped tight around his waist and her arms clutching at his shoulders while she desperately attempted to keep the cloak around their forms.

Since then she has kept her distance, emotions a thrumming storm, a muddled mess that gives Jasper a monumental headache whenever he tries to decipher them. Were he to attempt describing what sensations he gets with that sixth sense, there would be only one coherent way to do so. It's like looking upon a Jackson Pollock painting, a mess of markings and colours with no feasible way of being truly translating into clarity.

The only option he had truly been capable of, was to wait.

So wait he has.

He has watched Hariel stalk about the tent, attempting to figure out where her enemy would hide a 'diadem', has walked silently alongside her as they make tracks through the secret magical sections of her country, always in disguise. Hariel's brown wig has been very entertaining, whereas Jasper has simply mixed spot into his hair and washed it out when their undercover work is done.

He's not quite sure what she has been thinking about; is it the casual murder of Bellatrix that upsets her? Surely not, Hariel has accepted this is war, and war leads to deaths. He can hardly see her bothered as to the fate of her godfather's killer.

That though, still leaves him stumped as to the cause of her quarrelling emotions.

Thin digits, peeking out the thick wool of her fingerless gloves, clench into the fabric of her trousers, curling up into tight fists.

Jasper watches the action with curious eyes, painfully aware of how the shifting of fabric pulls ever so slightly against his own pants leg. His boots crunch against the gravel as he adjusts one leg, leaving his thigh pressing against Hariel's, unwilling to remove it now that she has decided that the close proximity between them is favourable.

"Whitlock?"

Tilting his head to the side, Jasper catches Hariel's eyes, watching as she worries her lip between her teeth, small puffs of hot wet air curling out from beneath her nostrils.

"Yes, Darlin'?"

"If, if I get hurt..." She trails off, as if struggling to find the right words, and Jasper cannot just sit here and allow her to suffer without even the slightest showing of support. He takes one hand with his own, slowly working her fingers free until he can intertwine them with his own.

The wool is rough against his palm, but so perfectly warm. He draws Hariel's captured hand onto his thigh, back of her palm resting against his jeans as his own hand covers hers.

"Take your time, Darlin'," he whispers, incredibly conscious of her eyes upon his face. How they trace down from soot stained hair, following the sharp line of his jaw, resting on his lips for a moment before her gaze flees to their surroundings.

"I need to win this war," she says with all the certainty of a man who knows the sky to be blue, the sun to be warm, "and I can't die before that. If becoming a vampire means I can keep up the fight, if I'm in danger of dying, will you turn me?"

Were he actually in need of oxygen, perhaps in that moment it would have caught in his throat.

She is so much closer, neck arching upwards and chin tilted in his direction. If he turns his head just a bit, presses ever so slightly forwards; Hariel's grip on his hand tightens, her throat works to swallow.

"If that's what you want, Ma'am."

"I think I prefer Darlin'."

Her breath is so hot against his lips, eyes so bright and daring as she stares.

"I won't let you get injured." It feels important that he clarify this, because while Hariel has asked for it, has requested he turn her when the only other option is death, he has no intention of allow another to harm her.

"I know," and it is said with such surety, such underlying happiness and admiration; nobody has ever looked at Jasper like this before.

He wonders what it would be like, to lean that little bit closer, to catch her lips with his, to have their noses brush ever so slightly against one another as they find the right angle. He silently encourages Hariel, hopes his eyes reflect the same desire and curiosity that hers do. He wants this, but he needs her to be sure, will not allow himself to push her, to pressure her.

Yet, she leans forwards, until there's barely an inch between them.

 

"Harry!"

 

 

 

**21st November 1997**

Jasper had formed his opinion of Hariel's 'friends' long before he met them.

It was not a favourable one.

After their sudden reintroduction to Hariel's life, that has only fallen further.

So close, so close he had been able to sense the warmth radiating from Hariel's lips, the thrumming of the blood beneath. The baby fine hairs that cover all skin, invisible to the human eye but oh so clear to vampiric sight. The delicate mosaic of various greens within her eyes.

All ripped away from him when Hariel had jolted at the calling of her fiends.

Friends that are still adamantly suspicious of Jasper even now.

It is late into the night, the morning sun soon to dawn to the east. Jasper sits outside of the tent, because while Hariel may have become comfortable enough in his presence to forcibly pull him into the tent, there is another female now. Jasper knows his manners, unlike the bumbling redhead who is already snoring away. He shall not impose upon a lady's sleeping quarters, so instead he will once again remain on guard outside.

Hariel's 'friends', Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, are incredibly uneasy around him, and Jasper tries not to take too much satisfaction from that. Especially when Hariel so readily leapt to his defence.

The moon is bright, gleaming off the dulled surface of his silver flask, Hariel's blood sloshing about within it's cavity. The sound does not drown out the whispered words from the tent though.

"You almost kissed him," Miss Granger hisses, voice low enough that no human other Thant he intended recipient would hear her.

"Almost," Hariel whispers, and Jasper stills, the flask falling silent in his grip. Hariel, Hariel knows he can hear everything that goes on within the tent when it is not protected by an audio specific charm. Which can only mean that she wishes for him to hear this, to know this.

Jasper does not dare to move, irrationally terrified that the slightest noise will drown out Hariel's confession.

"Why? He's a vampire, Harry."

"He's also Major Whitlock of the Texan army from way back in the day, and he's a survivor of the Mexican vampire wars. He's saved my ass from snatchers and helped me retrieve a Horcrux. He's got these stupid manners that won't let him stay in the same space as a sleeping woman and he's always calling me Darlin' and he doesn't care that I'm the Girl-Who-Lived."

There's something to those last words, that last point, that indicates it should have a lot more weight that Jasper considers it to hold.

From the sigh that escapes Miss Granger's lips, she's aware of it too.

His stomach feels as if it is clenching, and he feels like a blind man in the perfume department, completely overwhelmed with sensation.

He flees, staying in the range to hear approaching enemies, but quite unable to remain so close.

 

When Hariel emerges from the tent, it is nearing midday. She seems well rested, as if she had not spent a good portion of the night bringing her friends up to speed and the holding a discussion upon feelings with Miss Granger.

"Hogwarts!" She cries, bouncing up to him with the same excitement that overtook her face upon escaping Gringotts.

"Well good morning to you too, Darlin'," Jasper chuckles, taking in the flustered blush that graces Hariel's cheeks for a moment. He does not pay any real attention to her friends, instead offering up the packet of blueberries he'd picked up from the shop on his way back.

They shuffle over one another in the plastic casing, jostling for position. Hariel's smile is an almost blinding thing, reverently accepting the blueberries with a wide smile. They are her favourite fruit after all.

"Thanks, Whitlock."

"My pleasure, Darlin'."

Her smile brightens, from something polite to an expression of complete sincerity. the choked gagging that the uncouth Ronald Weasley mocking produces is ignored, Hariel peeling back the lid to pop a handful of the fruit into her mouth.

For a moment, her eyes flick up to meet his, hand catching his own and dragging him towards the tent.

"Come on, we've got to discuss plans to get into Hogwarts."

 

His hand will smell of blueberries, and while it is not a pleasant scent to him, putting up with it is reward enough to hold Hariel's hand.

 

 

 

**24th November 1997**

They make their plans to sneak into Hogwarts, huddled up in the living room of the tent, the humans sheltered from bitterly cold winter winds.

He can see how Miss Granger's eyes follow their movements, how she takes careful note of their proximity.

When they seat themselves, Hariel places herself close enough to Jasper that their thighs brush against one another, how when Hariel passes him his flask or he offers her a cup of tea, their fingers linger far too long over one another's than is entirely necessary.

Jasper cannot quite tell if she approves or not, if she is just being cautious because Hariel is currently in a delicate position, or because he is a vampire and poses a high risk to her health. Hariel seemed rather certain that her parents would have liked him though, simply for the fact he has done his best to keep her safe.

Now, as they walk along through the forest leading to Hogsmeade, Jasper plucks at the wild flowers that stubbornly persist in the face of the winter chill.

Once he has a reasonable amount in his hand, he strides past Miss Granger and Weasley, falling into step beside Hariel and offering her the little bouquet. He has no idea what the flowers mean, having only the bare basics of the language down from his time as a human. Certainly it covers none of the tougher English flowers that, while not quite thriving in winter, seem capable of weathering out the harsh conditions.

Cheeks rosy from the biting cold, Hariel beams at him, accepting the flowers. Her hair is braided, the wild curls forcibly tamed, and she threads the wild flowers between the strands.

Something in Jasper warms to see her do something with them, even though he had gathered the little collect on nothing more than a whim.

"Thanks, Whitlock. Should I expect some more?" Hariel asks, drawing in all of his attention once again.

"Maybe in the future, Darlin'."

It is not like his entire world has changed in the face of her, she has not become the centre of his orbit. That still remains his life as a vampire, his struggle to find a better solution than killing people for their blood. Feeding from animal, the freely given blood Hariel offers, both have their problems.

His vampirism is still the sun to his earth.

Yet, Hariel has the potential, is quickly becoming his moon.

A companion, one that orbits the sun but still circles him too, with enough strength to effect him, to change tides and illuminate parts of him the sun fails to reach. Her presence, it brings him closer to a state of completion, a chance to be at peace with who he is, someone to accept him.

He wonders if she has accepted that he stands as her moon at the moment, accompanying her as the gravitates towards her focus. To destroy this Dark Lord.

Maybe one day when Jasper settles into a way of dealing with his vampirism, and one day when Hariel is free from her appointed task as defeated of the Dark Lord, maybe one day when they have both conquered their suns, they could find a new one together.

"Come on, we're nearly there," Miss Granger proclaims, appearing at their side. A hand finds Jasper's, Hariel's fingers holding tight.

 

Hogwarts is a magnificent sight, even from the distance of the little village.

They are hastily shuffled into a nearby pub by a man Miss Granger identifies as a friend; Jasper still keeps himself between Hariel and these strangers. He listens to everything that is explained, listens as Hariel describes the diadem they are there to retrieve, as she tentatively voices her opinion that just maybe the snake Voldemort holds so close to his side is the final Horcrux, that the one time had possessed it, the sensation had been the very same to what she later discovered the Horcruxes gave off.

This whole thing makes Jasper uneasy, he has no idea what he is about to walk into, not really. All he can say for certain is that Hariel will march with or without him, the burden weighing heavily upon her shoulders.

He will not allow her to carry that alone.

 

 

Walking through the halls as stealthily as possible, Jasper can secretly admit that he now understands Hariel's tales, her tone of voice whenever she spoke of this place. It is not just the building, though certainly the castle holds an ancient type of charm to its walls.

No, there is something else, something extra, that just pulls a person in with the promise of safety, warmth and home.

Something magical.

"Two approaching around the corner," Jasper whispers to Hariel, shifting until he stands by her side.

Miss Granger comes forwards, her own wand in hand, and the second they round the corner, both fire off jets of red. The two males crumple to the floor, sprawled awkwardly in a manner that Jasper learns to indicate they are 'stunned'.

"Malfoy," Hariel hisses, staring down at the blond male in disgust.

Without hesitation she snatches up his wand, throwing it towards him and Jasper catches the delicate piece of wood between his pale fingers.

They stuff the stunned duo into a closet, Miss Granger spelling it with a locking charm to ensure they would not be escaping before their self appointed task is complete.

 

As the mangled diadem drops to the stone floor, Jasper steps back and grimaces at the taste in his mouth.

Human food is disgusting, but that does not mean he has suddenly developed a taste for metal either.

Hariel stares down at the former Horcrux and there are shadows around her eyes. She is so close to completing her task, just one more of these Horcrux things to go and then she will be finished.

"How do we get the snake? That is, if it is even a Horcrux?"

"It never leaves his side," Hariel murmurs, eyes narrowed and a scowl upon her face. It is not an expression Jasper sees upon her features often, not since he destroyed the necklace that had been influencing her emotions upon their first meeting.

"We have to get him here then," Weasley concludes, and though it irritates Jasper, he has to agree with the boy.

It galls him, the idea of putting children in danger, but from a strategic point of view, this is the best place that they can make a stand.

A castle, after all, is made to withhold against invading forces. Surely it' creators would not have left it magically undefended either, though Jasper's knowledge upon that is woefully lacking.

"Okay then," Hariel murmurs, her hand finding Jasper's and giving a delicate squeeze, as if trying to ground herself, "let's go take over a castle."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm gonna make you feel my love,_   
>  _Leave you no room for doubt,_   
>  _No other hope for me,_   
>  _You're my destiny,_   
>  _Won't go nowhere without you,_
> 
>  
> 
> _You're my fire,_  
>  _That much is true,_  
>  _You're the one thing I will not lose,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I'll turn the tide,_  
>  _Pull down the moon,_  
>  _Run rivers dry,_  
>  _Battle fate for you,_
> 
>  
> 
> _Let's burn the pages,_  
>  _We'll start anew,_  
>  _Right through the ages, to prove,_  
>  _Fate don't know you like I do,_
> 
>  
> 
> -Desi Valentine, _Fate Don't Know You_

 

 

 

 

**25th November 1997**

Hariel stops outside of a grand set of doors, the hushed whispers of subdued children wafting out from the minute space between floor and threshold.

Both Miss Granger and Weasley look nervous, but Jasper has eyes only for Hariel.

Her small hands are clenched tight, thin fingers curling in protectively towards the centre of her palms. Momentarily, her limbs shake, if only for a second until she steadies herself.

A solider about to go into battle; Jasper recognises her look well, has worn it more times than he cares to count. Perhaps to the point that the expression now wears him instead.

"Snape's headmaster," Hariel breathes, and there's an acid in her tone as she speaks that name, the name of an enemy for sure. Greasy hair, beaked nose, look of constant disdain, these are the three key features he recalls of Snape. The other little details -potion-stained fingers, dark eyes, swallow skin- swirl about in his mind. Indentifying and disabling 'Snape' will take him a fraction of the time it will take Hariel to even react to his presence.

This is his assigned task, and Jasper shall not fail.

That does not mean he is pleased to be allowing Hariel to walk straight into what is currently enemy territory with only turncoats to watch her back.

Subduing Snape is his priority, but Jasper does not lie to himself, he will attempt to be everywhere at once in order to ensure Hariel is safe. For his friends number a precious few, capable of being counted upon one hand with fingers left to spare.

He will do all that he can to ensure their safety, and if that means going to war once more, then march Jasper shall.

Hariel inhales, the shifting of her bones against muscle ever so audible to his ears, and she throws open the doors.

Jasper is through the moment the gap is large enough to permit him, shooting up the isle between tables before the humans within can even begin to react.

There is a jolt of shock within his target, the ever so slight rounding of his eyes as his body jolts in surprise, but there is not enough time to register, to consciously react before Jasper is ploughing into him.

The wizard goes down hard, Jasper rolling the two of them until he has the column of a neck within his hand, fingers curled around tender and fragile flesh, holding the struggling body high before him.

The man who has made himself Hariel's enemy may be tall, but Jasper is taller still, stronger by far and it takes him little effort to hold this man out before him like a sacrificial lamb.

There's screams in the room, wands are drawn and pointed not just at Jasper but at a variety of people.

And within this hurricane of panic, Hariel stands with her mane of red hair, green eyes reflecting the lioness she only just manages to keep caged.

Jasper has only ever hunted one mountain lion before, just before he left for England. A female, she'd been ferocious when he first found her, tearing into her prey and yet completely unaware that there was an even greater predator stalking her.

He tries not to reflect too much upon that, to ignore that he watches constantly to catch a threat Hariel doesn't see. It is the soldier in him, not paranoia.

Perhaps if he repeats that enough, he will begin to believe it at some point; he's hopeful.

"I'm going to kill Voldemort," Hariel says, and even as people shriek at the name, even as the turncoats flinch at the address, she continues on without any indication she has noticed, "I'm going to kill him."

And that's it.

She doesn't expand on her plans, but really she doesn't have to. Not to Jasper, who knows exactly what Hariel wants from life now, what she wants to make of her life.

Hariel wishes to not be famous, to not be the 'go-to hero' whenever there is a problem. She wants a normal life, and Jasper cannot fault her for that, will help fight for that.

If part of his wishes that she will allow him to be part of that life, for however long or short it may be, a part in whatever way they can work out; well, Jasper will discuss it with her when there is no longer a war on.

The man in his grip struggles once more, stripped of the wand he once held; that'd been the first thing Jasper had removed from his person. Perhaps some limbs will follow.

This Snape does not dare to meet his eyes and for once that is perhaps not because of their colour.

Because Jasper's perception of this greasy human has been tarred with a brush Hariel wields; no doubt that glistens in his gaze.

 

They retreat to an office, Hariel and he, his captured prisoner and the Deputy Headmistress. Or should that be the acting Headmistress now?

Jasper's not particularly bothered over the technicalities; he has a battle to plan, more information to learn and in all honesty, the title of one woman doesn't worry him too much right now.

More importantly, the potential Headmistress has stunned Snape, allowing for Jasper to calmly drag him behind them as they walk, not that the vampire would have been hindered in any way were he not stunned.

There would just have been more chance of Snape being able to harm Hariel if that were the case, not that the man would have been strong enough to escape Jasper's vampiric strength regardless of his state.

He stalks after the two women, Hariel speaking in hushed undertones as she catches McGonagall up to speed with all that is happening at this moment in time.

He can see she is as twitchy as the turncoats when it comes to him; the fact she has even managed to turn her back upon him is impressive indeed. The quick glances she keeps shooting at his form, using the reflexive surfaces of the hallways -shining armour, great glass windows, brass candlesticks- to her advantage shows she's certainly not comfortable with him, for all that Hariel proves to be completely at ease with his presence.

Good senses.

Not that he would harm a woman who holds Hariel's respect like this.

The members of the resistance group, the Order of the Phoenix, are rounded up the enemies that preside in the castle.

Once that is complete, they will begin on building the wards, McGonagall explains as the stalk through the corridors.

Jasper watches the paintings that move upon the wall, noting how each and every one of them sneer down at his prisoner, a look of vindictive justice housed in their gaze.

It would seem Snape has not in any way, shape or form, made friends or allies.

Regimes fall everyday, and only the smart ones are granted survivors. These Death Eaters; well should -when- Hariel's side wins the war, there will not be shown any kindness. Not in the face of how they have acted; they do not deserve it.

The headmistress' office is a startling thing, with oh so many portraits that don't even put up the pretends of being asleep.

Dumping his captive in one of the sturdy chairs, Jasper releases him as soon as McGonagall proves to have him secured, prowling over to the window. He will not be much good for the interrogation, it is best to leave the questions to those that know what to ask.

Instead, he lets his eyes sweep out of the windows, cataloguing every last inch of the grounds that stretch across the immediate surroundings, breaking down the features in order to collect all of the relevant information.

Strategic weak points they need to defend, stronghold they need to exploit to their maximum potential, a bridge that needs destroying if they wish to remain defensible.

There's a fair amount of work that needs to be done.

 

"Don't give them even a second of breathing room."

The interrogation is over, the enemy masses have gathered on the distant edges of Hogwarts grounds, and Jasper stands besides Hariel as they stare out of the great oak doors of school's main entrance.

Everyone else within is rallying, following whatever plans they have set for when under attack. Only with Jasper's additional suggestions; Hariel had made sure they took his comments and added them to the plans, explaining Jasper has fought in a war of his own once before, so he damn well knew what he was doing.

Several of the witches and wizards had looked disgruntled to be following his recommendations, but whatever legend Hariel commands among these people is taken seriously.

When she stated they should follow his instructions, they snapped to attention with only minor complaints expressed in low tones and grumbles. Not loud enough for Hariel to hear, but certainly not quiet enough to escape his notice.

Not that they seemed to remember the advantage of vampiric hearing that is.

"If that's what you feels for the best, Darlin'."

He doesn't remind her of just how many she is sentencing to death by including him in this battle. Not that he would ever leave her alone to fight such a war.

Even if she told him to leave, Jasper would be unable to. Not when she is so fragile, so painfully mortal in her every breath and every gesture.

She knows exactly how many people he could tear apart here, has seen it when the snatchers descended upon them all those weeks back.

Rotating his wrist about, Jasper keeps his eyes on the shallow leftovers with his flask, the scent of Hariel's blood cooling through the air at the motion.

It's for the best he feeds right now, even though it's only been a day since he last indulged. That way there's only a minuscule chance he'll get distracted by the blood during this fight. It will put all of his control to the test though, every last scrap he's managed to gather during his scant few years living as a 'vegetarian vampire'.

Around them, the magical wards of the castle give an wailing melody of shuddering complaints, battered by the enemy upon their doorstep.

Though Hariel is quite unable to see them, the masses are as clear as day to Jasper.

Far more than the groups of Newborns he's fought before, but certainly not as dangerous. For them to be dangerous, they would have to capture him.

None of the enemy knows that Hariel has a vampire on her side, and if there's one thing from Maria's memories that has proven true, it is that the magical folk need an advanced warning, they need time if they want to have a chance at stopping a vampire.

They're just not quick enough to do so.

All he has to watch out for is the literal fire the Wizards can conjure.

That and the spell of instant death.

Hariel has already informed him of the incantation so he knows what to listen out for, but it behaves in the same way as all other flashing spells; brightly coloured and moves in a direct line. He'll be able to dodge it easily.

Now he just needs to ensure Hariel does not get hit by the curse.

"Kill the snake as well, if you can please."

"Of course, Darlin'."

And as the wards give another stuttering quiver, Jasper takes hold of Hariel's hand, pressing a light kiss to the tops of her knuckles.

And then it begins.

 

The battle passes quickly for Jasper, a return to the environment he knows oh so well. For he has lived and breathed battles, it has his body singing an old belting soprano of a song, the lyrics of the tune never quite forgotten in earnest.

He tears through the first batch before they have even managed to organise themselves, but that is why the canon-fodder goes for the first charge. They are expendable.

After a minute or two, the enemy come to understand just what is moving in a blur, what is snapping the necks of their fellows and leaving them in crumpled heaps.

They begin by summoning up fire, surrounding themselves in the blazes too sweat pours down their brows.

It's irritating, and Jasper has to get clever over how he takes them down; it slows his kill rate, but doesn't stop him.

It's easy to tell the more dangerous ones from the ones of relatively little significance. They're further back, and far more dedicated to the cause than those just looking for the violence or to get a high off the power of winning a fight. They stand apart, taller and prouder, more focused than the others.

Not to say that they are stable examples of sanity though.

There's a moment where a smell so foul catches his attention, and at the same time Jasper finds himself doing battle with a true Child of the Moon. Not hunted to extinction as Caius of the Volturi triumphantly believes. Just hidden from his reach.

If they are all like the one before him, than perhaps one of the Volturi lords has the right idea.

It is perhaps the most difficult fight that he's had in decades, but while this man has gotten high off his senses that put him superior to a human, Jasper stands above even him.

Outside of his werewolf form, he's not capable of besting Jasper, Jasper who has torn through Newborns like a child through wrapping paper, Jasper who has seen more battle than perhaps any other that stands upon these lands.

The Child of the Moon falls at his hands and Jasper moves onto the next.

There's so many bodies occupying this field, both living and dead; thankfully the enemy has been considerate enough to wear something resembling a dark uniform, so Jasper knows just who to target.

The whole battle comes grinding to a halt when a giant of a man troops up, steps heavy and carrying a limp figure in his arms.

For a moment, Jasper's whole world stops, because he can feel the despair curling off of that man and he can see familiar red curls spilling from the still body he holds.

The earth shattering anguish nearly cuts Jasper's knees out from under him and he takes a whip of fire to the shoulder as a result of his sudden stillness.

He cannot even remember throwing his flask, forever housed in the Hariel-expanded pocket of his jeans, with enough force to send it right through the man's chest.

His eyes are only centred upon Hariel's motionless form.

Senses stretching, sheer relief rushes through him because even through the thunderous applause of so many heartbeats, he can hear Hariel's nervously beating away.

From the smugness of her most hated enemy, he seems sure that the redhead is no longer among the living. Leaving Hariel the perfect opportunity to strike.

Jasper has no intention of giving her play away, nor those he have any desire to really look upon the state of absolute desolation that occurred in his chest for the sole moment he believed her dead.

He'll address that later.

There's a moment of gloating as everyone stops, until one of the other students makes a passionate speech, snatches a sword from a hat and beheads a snake.

Hariel flashes into action and the battle begins anew.

 

 

**26th November 1997**

The early morning after the battle finds Jasper sitting within the most magical room he has been exposed to as of yet.

The Room of Requirement is an exceptional thing, allowing him to create a place where he feels completely comfortable.

A reflection of the tent he has spent several weeks in, back before Hariel's turncoats made their way back to her.

There's a few differences, noticeably the absent odour of cats, but it's clear exactly what this room is suppose to be. Strange how no matter the long stretch of life he has 'lived' so far, it is a place he has spent so little time in that he feels safest.

Already Jasper has stripped and showered, the blood of his fallen enemies swirling down the drain, disappearing to who knows where. His jumper and jeans were exchanged for a tee-shirt and loungewear jogger bottoms, in white and grey respectively.

Right now, he's sitting on the sofa in his usual position, waiting for Hariel to emerge from the bathroom.

She'd been so busy helping the survivors, organising things, staring at a small cracked stone on a ring -Jasper has no idea at what point she'd acquired it, certainly not before the battle- that he'd eventually had to physically pull her aware to get some down time.

The Room of Requirement is perfect for that, hidden from everyone who could disturb Hariel for something other than a threat to her safety, while also having the additional benefit of being an environment Jasper knew Hariel to be comfortable in.

Because there is something wrong.

He can feel it in the turbulent emotions that war within her, the way she sometimes stares out into the distance, witnessing something that even Jasper's superior sight cannot pick out. He's not sure what has changed in the past twenty four hours, but he knows that it was something important.

Just like what has occurred in his own chest, what carved out a hallow place within his ribcage, a hole that was only momentarily filled with a flood of relief when he registered Hariel's continued heartbeat. It has all drained out now, leaving a dry cavity that longs for the drought to end.

Jasper's just not sure how to go about that.

All he has been able to conclude is that Hariel's importance to him weighs far heavier than he first believed.

His hearing picks up on the shower turning off, and it's only a few moments later that Hariel sluggishly makes her way into the room.

The mane of hair that usually frames her face has drooped with the water it houses, now spiralling down over one shoulder in thick limp tangles. She's wearing a simple pair of pyjamas, the same pair he's seen her wear throughout their stay within the actual tent.

It only painstakingly showcases just how pale her skin has become, how dark a contrast the smudges beneath her vibrant eyes creates. Without doubt Hariel does not look her best, perhaps the worst he's seen her since the moments before he realises just what the locket has been doing to her emotions and mind.

The smile she gives him is not the warmest, nor does it light up the room. It looks pained, as if she's dragged the expression out of some pit just to prove a point.

He thinks she's beautiful for it.

"Darlin'," Jasper greets, watching cautiously as she doesn't stop at the space beside him, instead taking a hold of his arm and peeling it back from where it'd been resting in her lap.

Quickly, a skinny warm body replaces it, legs curled up and wet head resting on the broad expanse of his shoulder. She's physically exhausted, emotionally drained.

But instead of leaving to seek comfort in solitude or with her friends, the brilliant little witch has come to him instead, creating herself a little cocoon of warmth with just Jasper to protect her from the outside world.

He wraps his arms right around her waist, pressing his cheek against the scorching warmth of her forehead, eyes fluttering shut. He's a vampire, and vampires cannot dream.

But he doesn't need to, this is as comforting and wistful as he imagines a good dream would have been.

 

At some point, Hariel slips into a deep slumber, the room providing a crackling fireplace nearby in order to keep Hariel from getting too cold. Body heat is not exactly something he is fantastic at providing.

Lying down with Hariel on the large sofa though, running his fingers across her scalp and smoothing out her hair, holding her in her sleep as she starts to shake, that is something he can manage.

It's completely innocent, just lying there with this girl in his arms, and Jasper realises he could do this every day for the rest of eternity, for the remainder of his existence and be utterly content.

 

When Hariel wakes, there's no surprise, no panic. It's as if waking in his arms is completely natural.

Dark lashes dust against pale cheeks, green cresting beneath the shifting eyelids. She's radiating heat, painfully human body shuffling about within the protective cage of his arms. The back of his forearms brush against the bare skin of her back, exposed by the worn shirt that sits around her waist instead of the hips it should reside at.

Jasper's not complaining.

One of his fingers strokes at her side, the dip that comes between the end of her ribs before the rising swell of her hips. The room's quiet, only crackling of the fire mingling with the light little putters of Hariel's breathing.

Jasper doesn’t dare to, the proximity will probably be the end of him. Hariel looks so blatantly tired; that she lets down her walls enough for him to see this…

Their noses bump against one another, the tips pecking against one another as the human in his embrace stretches her neck.

Then lips meet his, and it's the start of something new, something he is not used to.

A fragile trust, a clumsily built bridge, the foundations shaky and unsure. It might stand, it might crumble. It might last as an ice-cream in beneath the sun, or it might weather the test of time as a grand castle built a thousand years ago stands upon a hill.

It's new, but for Jasper who has lived more than a century and seen a vast amount, it is a good kind of new.

 

 

 

**24th May 1998**

It is startling, just how quickly six months can pass by, startling just how much and yet, how little can change during that period of time.

The first, most noticeable thing, is that they no longer live in a tent. They no longer live in fear of a man that has haunted Harry's every step since childhood. For he is dead now and finally, at long last, the redhead can step forwards knowing that he will not be lingering down the next dark corner.

Instead, they both now reside in Grimmauld Place.

It has been years, an incredible amount since Jasper has been able to call a place home.

But that is what Grimmauld is quickly becoming, even with the snark of Kreacher the house-elf acting as the official 'help' of the ancient household. The little being seems quite torn on what to think of Jasper, because while he may have once been a muggle, the house elf clearly approves of his being as a 'dark creature'.

Jasper isn't too sure of the whole thing, but Kreacher dislikes both Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and on that the American amusedly agrees. They are Harry's closest friends, and some might think it is petty of him, but he will never forget that they left Harry on her own.

A part of him is thankful though; otherwise the pretty redhead may have never given him the time of day otherwise. Then he wouldn't have this.

 

Sat up to the kitchen table, Jasper wraps his lips around the blood-pop, watching Harry dance about in front of the stove.

Kreacher is off doing some form of shopping, and task Harry thrust upon him so that she could have a go at cooking for a change. The same thing happens every Sunday.

She's wearing a pair of denim shorts, a burst of early English sunshine allowing for such appeal. Most importantly though, she's paired it off with one of his button up shirts, the one he'd gotten fro it was the same green as her eyes, worn unfastened with a simple white camisole beneath.

The sleeves, too long for her slender arms, are rolled up, coming to a stop just short of exposing her elbows. She looks wonderful.

As if sensing where his thoughts are, Harry cocks her head back over her shoulder, eyebrow rising in lieu of a question.

"It’s a good song, Darlin'." And it is.

Jasper will never get the chance to meet Sirius Black, but the man had good taste in music. The crooning voice of some sixties songstress glides through the air, the tune coaxing a cheerful swaying from Harry's hips.

There's smears of cookie batter up the tanned skin of her arms, a splash on her cheek.

Jasper hides his grin behind the blood-pop; she looks damn adorable.

Near six months, just a few days short before they can celebrate a half year of an official relationship, and she only grows on him more every day.

Going out on their weekly dates, surprising each other with gifts or gestures or even just displays of such obvious trust…

This must be what having a mate is like.

Jasper's already well aware he's in deep, probably far too deep. But he wouldn't have it any other way, because this is Harry.

If he's lucky, then she'll fall just as deeply for him, will sink into this state of permanent bliss such as what currently surrounds him.

If he's not that lucky, then at least he got this time with her.

There's a flickering thought for her morality, but Jasper is quick to banish it. It's not a topic he wishes to approach right now.

"Still up for going to Diagon today, Whitlock?" Harry asks, grin wide and bright.

"I wouldn't leave you unaccompanied, Darlin'."

 

Diagon Alley is so very different than when Jasper was first here.

Sitting upon his favourite haunt, the very same rooftop he and Harry used as a stakeout, Jasper waves to the little group of children that spot him. Perhaps more people would have noticed him were it sunny.

But for all that the air is warm as summer approaches, there is a fine layer of clouds blocking the actual sun from shining, shielding Jasper from its revealing light.

With his legs thrown across the edging of the roof, feet dangling above the street, Jasper can hear how the children whisper to one another, excitement bubbling. How the man on the roof is a vampire, and not just any vampire but he's Hariel Potter's vampire and that they're gonna get married, the newspapers say so.

And there's one child that proclaims such a thing can never happen, because Hariel's a witch and Jasper's a vampire and witches don't marry vampires, her daddy said so.

And there's another child that says if Hariel doesn't want him, then he only has to wait around for a bit and she'll be willing to marry him instead.

Jasper chuckles at that last bit, cradling his head in one hand, elbow resting on his knee.

He wonders if this is what he pictured as a human, joining the army and becoming a famous hero, have the crowds flocking and the ladies swooning. He can't picture his younger human self imagining such a thing, but it has been so long since he daydreamed of anything that Jasper isn't too surprised that the memory remains stubbornly out of reach. He doesn't care too much; the memories he's making now are far more enjoyable.

He's flicking through a book on wizarding history, only stuff from back before Hogwarts was even built.

Part of Jasper wishes to see what kind of magical history America houses, what things were like during the era he was once human in.

How much of the world he has yet to learn about, events long since past that he thought he knew as much as one possibly could do, and yet now he learns there has always been a secondary tale to any event. A reflection in another world so like his own, but so incredibly different too. Jasper's so involved in his book that he almost misses it.

A flare of emotions -emotions previously hidden and suppressed so very very well and he hadn't been paying attention he should have been paying attention- and then one of the shop explodes.

The shop Harry is in.

 

He shifts through the wreckage, tearing at wooden beams and uncaring of where they land.

The culprit died far too quick, Jasper having tore his jugular from his throat, barely thinking of anything other than that this cretin has attempted to kill Harry.

He wishes he'd drawn it out.

Harry's curled in on herself, heavily injured, lifeblood leaking out and staining the rubble. Her heartbeat's weak, a tiny fluttering, a dying hummingbird.

She's a witch, her body tougher and more resilient than that of a regular human's; it's probably the only reason she hasn't died instantly in that attack.

Jasper snatches her up and flees, mind whirling and the only thing he can think of is safety.

A safe place for Harry and he.

Grimmauld.

 

As he lays Harry down upon her bed not a minute later, mad dash over and already leaving his mind, it becomes evident she is dying.

Jasper is not perfect, he is not a good man, though he strives to be.

Selflessness is not a trait he can ever claim to have.

 

His fangs break skin.

 

 

**27th May 1998**

Harry does not wither in pain. She does not flinch, she does not cry, she does not appear to be effected in any way if one were to look only at her gestures.

But Jasper can taste the thick scent of sweat as it beads across her skin, he can feel the desperation, the plea to just die and let it all be over with, to finally escape the pain that burns through her veins with the burning force of a thousand suns.

She asked him, should she ever fall graciously injured with such a high chance of death, she asked if he would turn her.

Even after the war was finished, the one time he had brought it up, Harry had sat quietly for a few minutes. And then in a breath so low, she had proclaimed if she were ever to be in danger of dying, she would still like him to 'save' her.

With his hand in hers, thumb stroking across the back of her knuckles, Jasper wonders how anyone could bare to turn those they loved when not faced with death as the only other option.

Harry is suffering before him, because of him, and he cannot do anything to help.

Perhaps it is worse for him than any other; he can feel everything, every stabbing and burning sensation that scorches through Harry. It magnifies his guilt exceptionally well, leaves him whispering apologies, admitting truths that she'll never remember when this moment is over.

He speaks of Peter and Charlotte, how they are the closest thing he has to family. How he wishes for something like they have, and how he feels he might have found that on Harry.

How he's fallen perhaps far too fast, and that he is far too selfish to allow death to take her. Not when he could do something about it.

Truths fall from his lips, fall heavy and strong as he admits that if he were to spend the rest of his eternal life with anyone, he'd quite like to share it with Harry.

Vampires fall hard and they fall fast, and he would honestly never wish to emotionally trap her into anything.

It is why he speaks of this now, when she will not remember just how much he has come to rely upon her, because he will not see her pressured. He will not push to have her remain with him.

Because he values her far too much to ever limit her freedom.

 

Her heartbeat finally stops, and Jasper waits with baited breath her eyes to snap open. 

 

Only, they do not. 

 

Instead, impossibly so, her there's a single beginning thump.

 

And her heart starts beating again. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**20th March 2006**

"I met another young couple some years ago."

The leader of the Volturi, Aro, begins. His pale hands, the skin disturbingly wrinkled, fold over one another as his eyes begin following a tale Bella cannot quite see.

"They were rather like you, a vampire that fell in love with a human. A very romantic notion, even more so when you consider that the human was more than willing to leave her whole world to remain with the one she loved."

There is a silent dilemma somewhere, she just cannot see it.

Bella tries not to shiver as the ancient vampire's eyes lock upon Edward's form, the weighty gaze of god judging a sinner.

"One little bite, and the venom races through her body. Three days of never ending, unthinkable pain. Her heart stops. And then, impossibly, horrifyingly, it starts beating again. We are unsure why, but the woman's body not only rejected the venom, it refused to change her. Even when they approached us, hoping for answers, even when I personally attempted to change this girl, she remains stubbornly human. A great loss, for she would have made an exceptional vampire."

"You should consider yourself lucky, Edward Cullen, that eternity with your love is an option open to you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel coming whenever I get around to writing it, I guess,

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a guess on the chapter number; I'm aiming for about 20,000 words, thus four 5,000 word chapters, so here's hoping this doesn't drag on. Things'll obviously speed up a bit after this chapter.


End file.
